The sky is once again dark, I notice as I stomp and run, the beating palpitation rushing through me. Just another normal day—running from the Arden guards is my job.

  "Hold up, you miscreant!" One of them shouts.

  I don't stop.

  I squeeze myself between buildings, jumping from barracks to barracks, letting the familiar streets guide me to my escape. Adrenaline courses through me as I climb the wall just in time, leaving the guard to reach a dead end.

  I snicker as I hear the guards curse, unable to reach me. I've never felt so alive, gripping the two buns of bread I successfully grabbed from the crowded market of Araes, the city of the nation Ara. This is where I've lived ever since I was born, the place where my mother and father died, the place where I learned how to steal and make a living out of it, the place where I learned I can never trust anyone, a place barely even called a home. But this is where I belong. The streets are crooked, homeless people are scattered all over the city, people getting abducted, and Arden guards beating innocent citizens. The mere sight of this city hollers agony.

  The nation has been in a dire state ever since our Goddess perished. Our God, the constellation Ara or as the natives call her Razla, is nowhere to be found. Well, I believe she let herself out considering the state this place has been. The impudence of these divines to abandon the mere purpose of their existence—I abhor the Gods.

  As I try to dismiss my thoughts of hatred, trying to calm myself, I see a familiar face in front of my home. It's the proprietor, collecting the month's payment probably, though this time she seems more pissed than usual. This seems like bad news.

  "Ah. Here is one of the children." she says, noticing me. Mona, our landlady in this hellhole of a building, is a stern woman with graying hair and a permanent scowl. The others call her "Wank Mona," thanks to the rumors about her time in prison and her alleged partner.

  I tighten my grip on the bread, its warmth fading against my palm as my pulse quickens. "What do you want?" I ask, trying to sound braver than I feel. The black-robed man shifts slightly, his presence unnerving.

  Mona smirks when she sees the bread in my hand. "Roaming the streets again, are we?"

  I shoot her a glare, swiftly tucking the bread behind my back.

  "Where is your sister?" she asked, but I remained silent.

  She let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her temple. "Look, kid, I know it's hard to get by these days. But I need you and your sister to pay your rent's due."

  I glance past Mona, my grip tightening on the bread. She's staring at me like she can see right through me. I don't know what she wants from me. I've told her the same thing a thousand times: Esther's not here.

  "Where is your sister?" Mona repeats, her voice clipped and impatient.

  I try to keep my cool, though my insides are beginning to knot. Esther's been working outside the city for the past few months, earning whatever she can to keep us afloat. She comes home once a week, usually on market day, but lately, it feels like she's been gone longer and longer.

  "She's working," I reply, doing my best to sound casual.

  Mona raises an eyebrow. "Working? And how long's she been gone this time?"

  "A week," I say quickly. "She'll be back in a few days. She's doing farm work out in the country, you know that."

  I watch her eyes narrow, her gaze shifting to the bread in my hands. Mona's not a fool. She's seen me scurrying through the market before, sneaking around the stalls to grab whatever I can. But this bread... this bread is a small victory. The last thing I can steal that hasn't been taken from me yet.

  "Farm work, huh?" Mona's lips curl into a tight smile, one that doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, maybe she can use her 'hard-earned' wages to pay her rent then, because I'm not letting you two slide this time."

  I feel my heart sink.

  "I told you, Mona, Esther will have the rent when she gets back." I try to sound confident, but it's not convincing even to me. We're barely surviving on what little Esther can bring in. She works long, grueling days outside the city, and it's getting harder to make ends meet.

  Mona's eyes flick to the bread again. She sighs in frustration, as though she's already heard enough excuses from me. "I don't want to hear 'when she gets back.' You've been saying that for months now. Either you give me the money, or you'll find yourself out on the street. That's the deal."

  I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "She'll be back soon. I'm telling you. Just give us a little more time."

  Mona crosses her arms, staring me down. "If she's not back by the end of the week, you're gone. Understand?"

  I nod, though my stomach churns. I know Mona. She's not the kind of person to back down. When she says something, she means it.

  "Yeah. I understand."

  Mona doesn't say another word. She turns on her heel, walking away with that cold, distant air she always carries. I watch her go, my mind already racing through the possibilities. I could lie to Esther when she gets home, pretend everything's fine, but I know deep down that wouldn't be fair to her. She's been doing everything she can to keep us afloat. If I keep this from her, she'll only be disappointed in me.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  With a sigh, I step back inside our small, dimly lit apartment. It smells musty, the familiar scent of mildew and worn-out wood filling the air. There's a single chair near the cracked window, and the small cot where I sleep.

  I can't help but glance over at the empty space where Esther's things are scattered. Her old scarf is draped over the back of the chair, and a few worn-out books are stacked haphazardly on the table. She always makes time to come home, even if it's just for a few days. But lately, she's been gone more than usual. The work's been harder, the pay's been smaller.

  I can't blame her for that. She's trying her best.

  While I on the other hand is a useless freeloader, I can't keep up with everything she's been doing for us. I can't make enough to pay the rent, feed us, keep us out of the cold. I'm not as strong as she is. Not by a long shot.

  I sit on the edge of the cot, my fingers still wrapped around the bread, but it feels like nothing. Just another piece of food that will only fill us for a little while.

  I know I'm not supposed to feel sorry for myself. Esther always tells me that. "Don't wallow in it, just get through it," she says. But how can I not? It's exhausting. The constant running, stealing, hiding, the fear of being caught, of being thrown out into the streets with nothing.

  There's a knock at the door.

  I jump, startled. For a second, I wonder if it's Mona coming back to finalize her threat, but when I open it, I'm surprised to see Esther standing there.

  Her auburn hair is tied back loosely, some strands falling to frame her face. It's long and usually a bit wild after a long day of work, but today, there's a kind of softness to her look, like she's come straight from the farm but is still full of energy. Her hazel eyes sparkle in the dim light, and despite the weariness that clings to her, her smile is wide and bright, like it always is when she's happy to see me. She's carrying a sack over her shoulder, the familiar weight of it making her seem even smaller than usual, but her spirit hasn't dimmed. Esther's always had this infectious energy, a lightness about her that refuses to be dimmed by anything. Even after the long days of hard work, she's still Esther—optimistic, cheerful, and full of life.

  "Hey, Dawn!" she says, her voice lively as always. "Had to finish up some things on the farm, but here I am!"

  My heart lifts at the sight of her, but it's quickly overshadowed by the nagging worry in my chest. She's home early this week. Something's wrong.

  "You're back early," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  She beams, brushing a few strands of auburn hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I wrapped things up earlier than I expected. Thought I'd come home and see how you're doing. Have you been eating well? I brought some treats."

  Her cheery demeanor doesn't quite match the growing anxiety that I'm trying so hard to hide.

  "Esther…" I pause, unsure how to bring it up. I know she's tired, and I don't want to burden her with more stress. "Mona… she came by."

  Esther's face doesn't change, but her smile falters for just a moment. "Ah, Mona…" She exhales slowly, setting down the sack and rubbing her hands together. "What's she said this time?"

  "She wants the rent. She says if you don't pay by the end of the week, we're out."

  Esther laughs softly, a sound that's almost a little too light. "She always says that. She knows she can't kick us out. Where would she find another pair of tenants like us?"

  I can tell she's trying to make light of it, but her eyes have a hint of concern in them too. It's the way she is—always optimistic, always finding a way to stay positive. But even I can see it's getting harder for her to keep up the act.

  "We don't have much time, Esther. You've been working so hard, but it's just not enough anymore."

  Esther's face softens, and she steps forward, pulling me into a hug. "We'll figure it out, okay? We always do. Things may be tough now, but I believe in us."

  Her words are comforting, but they feel like a fleeting promise. We always do. But what happens when the "always" runs out?

  When our parents died, we became nothing more than strays, left to fend for ourselves on the streets. My earliest memory is of running—barefoot, breathless, my sister's hand gripping mine like a lifeline as we fled from the Arden guards. All for a single apple I had foolishly reached for at the market. Hiding, scrambling, pressing ourselves into the shadows—this became our way of life, a daily ritual of survival.

  Years passed, and my sister did everything she could to keep us afloat. She scrubbed floors as a maid, peddled scraps as a vendor, ran messages through dangerous alleys, and even pretended to read fortunes for desperate fools. Now, she breaks her back in the fields, all so we can keep going.

  And me? I lie. I cheat. I steal. That's all I've ever been good for. A cursed wretch, shunned by the divines, warped by fate as punishment for our parents' defiance. No matter how much I want to help her, I can't. I'm nothing more than dead weight—a useless, unwanted burden.

  "I don't want you to feel like you have to carry everything," I murmur, my voice muffled against her chest. I want to help—I truly do—but with this darkness clutched in my hands, I'm afraid of what I might become.

  She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still on my shoulders. Her hazel eyes are warm and filled with that unwavering positivity. "I know, I know you are. But It's alright, I can handle it. Trust me, okay?"

  I nod, though my mind is still heavy with the weight of everything. But when I look at her—her bright eyes, her cheery smile, the way she refuses to let the world beat her down—I feel a flicker of hope.

  "But you have to stop making it sound so easy." I say with a small grin.

  She laughs, ruffling my hair like she always does. "That's my job, kid. Making life a little bit easier. Now, come on. Let's eat. I brought some treats, remember?"

  I follow her to the small table, where she unpacks bits of dried fruit and the small pastries she's brought back from the farm. I place the loaf of bread I took from the market beside them. My stomach growls, but just as I reach for a bite, Esther's voice softens.

  "And Dawn," she adds, looking at me with a raised brow. "What's this I hear about you taking bread from the market again?"

  My stomach drops, and I avoid her gaze. "I—I was hungry," I mutter, but the words feel hollow even to me.

  Esther sighs, her gaze soft but firm. "Dawn, we've talked about this. You can't keep doing that. I know it's hard, but we can't steal our way through life. I'm doing everything I can, but we must be better than that."

  Her tone isn't harsh, but it's filled with that quiet disappointment that hits harder than any punishment. I look down at the bread, suddenly feeling ashamed.

  "I'm sorry, Essie," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

  She reaches out and gently lifts my chin, her hazel eyes searching mine. "I know you're just trying to help. But we must find another way, okay? No more stealing, I mean it."

  I nod, the weight in my chest lightening just a little bit. It's hard to imagine how things might get better, but with Esther by my side, I feel like maybe we can make it through another day.

  "Okay," I say, a little more confidently this time. "I won't do it again."

  Esther smiles, brushing a lock of crimson hair out of my face. "Good. Now, let's eat."

  With that, I sit down beside her, allowing myself to relax for the first time in what feels like ages.